From Child to Detective
by Scarlock
Summary: "No one is born a genius, Sherlock. You must learn from your mistakes and never believe there is something you can't do." How exactly could a pirate loving child turn into the world's greatest detective?


"Mycroft, I'm bored," Sherlock moaned. He attempted to snatch his brother's school jotter away but Mycroft whipped out of his hand.

"Sherlock I am trying to finish my maths homework. You're not smart enough to simplify fractions. Go away," Mycroft yelled.

Sherlock dejectedly turned around his face screwed up in concentration. He had heard the word 'fraction' somewhere before. Suddenly, his small face lit up. Although Sherlock was only five, he was determined for Mycroft to think he wasn't stupid and useless. It wasn't fair, Mycroft was nine.

"Did you not fraction your wrist, Mycroft?" Sherlock blurted out feeling extremely pleased with himself. He thought he sounded very grown up using the word 'fraction'.

"No you idiot. I _fractured_ my wrist. A fraction is number. A fracture is broken bone."

"Oh," Sherlock said. "Is five hundred and five a fraction then?" Mycroft did not reply so Sherlock pulled at his hands and tried to drag him up. "Can we play '_the duck sings_'?"

'_The duck sings'_ was a very good game which Mycroft had come up with only yesterday. By looking at toys, Mycroft could tell Sherlock the toys' whole life story. Sherlock thought this was incredible. However, Sherlock couldn't understand what the game had to do with a duck's singing.

"Fine, but its called _deductions_ not 'the duck sings' stupid," Mycroft corrected slamming his books shut. "In return you also have to do my chore of setting the table for the next three nights."

Sherlock contemplated this for a second but nodded his head in agreement. He let his older brother lead him up to his very own bedroom. His bedroom wall was plastered in posters of pirates, his very latest obsession. The furniture in his bedroom was basic but had an air of sophistication for a five year old. There was a desk, a bookshelf, a giant toy box, a walk in wardrobe and Sherlock's own bed complete with a pirate duvet. Sherlock loved his bedroom and usually spent half the day playing pirates. He would rearrange his bedding to make a pirate ship and then would sail the seas.

"What can you tell me about this Sherlock?" Mycroft extracted a red car out of his toy box and handed it to his little brother

"It's red," Sherlock said turning over the car in the tips of his fingers like Mycroft did when playing the game. "It has one, two, three, four, five seats inside it. That means that five people can sit in it. It has got a big scratch. The car must have got taken by pirates. It is a sword scratch."

Sherlock looked eagerly at Mycroft for his approval but his brother was far from pleased.

"There are no pirates nowadays Sherlock. They don't attack cars with swords. Now if you look carefully in the car you will see a baby seat which means that the car has had a baby in it." Sherlock strained his eyes to see the car seat. Mycroft was right; Mycroft was always right. "This seems to be a family car which..."

Sherlock had completely lost focus in the toy car and was running round his bedroom pretending to be a pirate. Sighing, Mycroft grabbed his little brother to try and get his attention but Sherlock just laughed and screamed.

"Mycroft what did I tell you about not winding up Sherlock before he went to bed especially on the night before his first day of school."

Their mother had appeared at the bedroom door during the fiasco and was looking rather sternly at them both. Her expression soften as Sherlock ran up to show her a picture of a pirate he had drawn.

"Sorry mummy," Mycroft apologised. He didn't understand why he should get the blame for his little brother being completely crazy.

"It's fine Mycroft but please don't do it again." Mycroft nodded and left.

Sherlock made sure he heard the door click shut before asking something that had been on his mind. "Mummy am I stupid?" Mycroft was always telling how stupid and slow to pick things up he was. His mother frowned at Sherlock's question. "I don't want everybody to be a lot more clever than me so I seen really stupid."

"No one is born a genius, Sherlock. You must learn from your mistakes and never believe there is something you can't do," his mother explained.

Sherlock wasn't completely sure he understood what his mother was meaning. People were born geniuses- Mycroft was living proof. Mycroft seemed to know the meaning of every word and was brilliant at all his school subjects. Every year, Mycroft brought home a report card which talked on about how naturally gifted he was at everything.

"You won't be worst in you class," his mother assured him. "You already have the makings of a genius. Anyway there are more important things to life than being clever."

Sherlock frowned at this. He began to wonder if his mother was lying about him having the makings of a genius. Everyone talked about how Mycroft had been the smartest five year old they had ever known. They didn't do this with Sherlock. Perhaps it was because they expected him to be smart like Mycroft or because Sherlock didn't show off and was more reserved than his brother. It might off also been because Mycroft thought Sherlock was the world's biggest idiot.

"Now Sherlock, what bedtime story do you want me to read." His mother lovingly scooped up her small child and placed him in his bed.

"My pirate one," Sherlock begged. He picked the book up from on his bedside table and gave it too her. As his mother opened up the book and began to read, she smiled. This was the eighteenth consecutive night that Sherlock had wanted this book read to him. The book calmed Sherlock down better than an anaesthetic could. The familiar words swirled round his head like one big wave. He imagined his bed being a boat just rocking gently back and fourth. Sherlock snuggled into the blanked and cuddled his teddy.

Before the book had finished, the young child was fast asleep. Sherlock dreamt about pirate attacks and boats sailing to deserted islands. He dreamt about being a pirate- about the rum and gold. He dreamt on: thinking he was stupid; not realising he was a genius and not realising that he would become the world's greatest detective.

**A/N- My first fanfic. It is slightly based off of Sherlock and Mycroft's conversation in 3.1. Do you like it? Please review and let me know if it is good enough to continue with.**


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